The Modron Mutiny

Chapter Eleven

Palindrome Suite

Hein tightened the grip on the orb, then activated it. He saw that familiar light envelop him, and in an instant, he was inside the room he’d seen previously in the scrying stone. The bronze door was shut, and nobody was inside. Hein wasn’t a complete fool though; he knew she had to have been planning something. No guards? No signs of obvious traps? Hein felt that it was too good to be true.

A pang of fear shot through Hein’s veins as he remembered how desolate the top of the tower looked, and how important Holder’s sword was. Why was she doing this without protection? Had that many modrons been killed?

She had to be planning something. Hein had to move.

Breaking him out of the brief realization that they could end all of this, was a slight shattering of glass. The orb he held broke into shards. Hein also realized that he was alone in the room. Rexi and Qresh were back in the control room. Hein didn’t have time to go get them, and had too important of a task to ignore. If Symmette really was alone in there, he wouldn’t need their help.

Hein knew he had to be quiet, and that he had to be fast. Once Symmette was dealt with, he could retrieve the sword and revive Azra. Azra likely had a literal stone grip on his sword, and Symmette’s skeletal arms probably couldn’t pry the sword out without effort. Hein didn’t think there was much of a risk of Symmette grabbing the sword before he cut her down. There had to be some sort of trap in place at the door, or at least a lock. Hein could handle locks.

Hein pocketed the shattered remains of his orb, put his large claw on the ground, silently commanded it to detach, then moved as quietly as he could towards the door. If there was a magical trap, he’d have no hope of knowing where it would be, aside from the front. No…warped as she was, Symmette was too lawful to leave simple traps in the way. Maybe she had thought this a victory? Hein still moved in from the side, and managed to keep every piece of metal on his armor silent.

Hein placed his hand on the door. His other prosthetic claw gripped his hammer, and he readied a spell of warding from fire. He gave the door a slight press, and could tell that it was locked. Hein went to work, slipping out a small set of tools to deal with the lock. Hein kept his movements silent, but the time it was taking was agonizing. The seconds felt like ages. Each turn of the picks, and near-silent click of the tumblers set him on edge. Despite his handicap, Hein was still able to keep his work silent. That is, until the locked clicked, and a whimper came inside the cell. Hein had to act now.

Hein kicked open the door. Symmette was standing near the back on the cell, and flinched as the metal door slammed open. As his foot left the door, Hein slipped away his hammer, and took out his auto-saw. Rage filled his vision, he could hardly concentrate on what was happening, but Hein did notice something odd. Azra was not inside the cell.

“Where is Holder?” Hein roared at her.

As he did, the auto-saw came to life, and started buzzing fast enough to sound more like a scream. Symmette didn’t answer.

Symmette looked wrong. Both of her faces held strange looks of shock and fear. The woman’s corpse-colored skin somehow had gotten even more pale, and she stared at Hein almost as if he wasn’t even there. She looked resigned to her fate…and was holding her swords limp-wristed.

“I saw his headless body on the ground! What did you do with him? Where’s his sword?” Hein shouted again, this time taking a few steps closer.

He was in range to remove both of her heads. Symmette still was silent, at least at first.

Hein watched both faces twitch, as if they were waking up from a dream. It was the faces Hein vividly remembered; how each one moved like a mirror of the other. A slight smile crept on both of them, almost like she was going to laugh, but it wasn’t out of arrogance. The woman Hein was staring at had looks of madness formed from desperation. Her smiles twitched, exposing her uniform teeth, each one being a perfect copy of the other, before fading again to a neutral look.

Hein tightened his grip on the saw. Maybe she was fooling him? Hein’s claw moved away from the door frame, and spun to turn towards the room Hein had arrived in. Hein’s flank was secured. Symmette started to laugh, both pairs of eyes squinting, and Hein saw what looked like tears starting to well up in them. Hein realized that he could take off both heads with one good swipe…assuming his attack wouldn’t be dodged. Hein thought that Symmette must have finally gone so crazy that she lost her sense of danger.

In the brief moment of meeting her, the woman finally spoke. Her voices came out dry, almost forced, and far too quiet.

“It…it is…just as I…I have…planned…”

The monstrous woman’s smiles returned, but this time more forced. Her eyes widened, and her arms started to twitch. It was as if her arms were locked in place, and she was having to force them out, force them to hold up the swords. There was a helpless insanity about her Hein couldn’t ignore.

Something happened inside of Hein’s mind. He knew that the world was at stake. He knew that by killing this woman, the modrons would have no leadership, and likely not know what to do. It would end the invasion, and save Faerun. Though he couldn’t explain it, Hein could only think of how fiercely Rexi defended Holder, and to some extent, Symmette before she realized that Symmette was insane. Holder had also risked his life several times to help them through this. He had comforted Toenails when he died. Toenails, possibly the most disgusting looking person Hein had seen. Azra Holder had even offered to help them capture Symmette. One of the most stubborn and annoyingly lawful people Hein had ever met, had indeed changed. Hein could end this now, but he didn’t know if he should. He found his arm heavy.

“You’ve lost your damned mind…at least hold up your weapons if you plan to finish this.” Hein said, now more like a spiteful whisper than a roar.

Symmette’s arms didn’t move, she just stood there, and her expressions faded from the forced smile, into looks of fear. Hein knew that she was fast, but she wasn’t fast enough to stop what he had planned. Hein had a shield spell on the back of his tongue, and if she lunged in, he could cut her before she could move from the cell. The more Hein looked at her, the more he realized how he likely wouldn’t need the spell. Hein couldn’t get over how helpless she looked. Maybe killing Holder had broken her?

Hein’s sword arm started to lower. Hein couldn’t explain it, but in this state, found alone inside a filthy prison cell, he couldn’t just kill her. Even though he had seen her drag the headless corpse of her lover into the cell, Hein couldn’t do it. Maybe Rexi and the others had rubbed off on him. Hein was wrong about Holder, a man he thought was completely hopeless. In her near helpless state, Hein couldn’t strike Symmette down.

“Where is Azra?” Hein asked, now sounding almost concerned.

Symmette didn’t answer him. She started to smile again, before Hein had grown tired of waiting. Hein’s claw scampered around, reattached to his arm, and Hein thrusted his mechanical fist at the woman. The giant metal hand hit Symmette right in both faces. Hein felt the woman’s frail body crumple under his strike.

“Rot then! I don’t have time for this…” Hein growled.

He started to remove both swords from her, started to search her for a key to the cell, but it was all interrupted in an instant. Hein first felt a sort of magical deadening. It was like a counterspell, or a magical dispel, but it was from seemingly nowhere. Hein heard no trap go off, words of spell speech, or anything hinting he had been disenchanted. When this overcame him, in an instant, Hein saw that same light he had used to teleport, then felt himself falling. The fly scroll had been dispelled.

Hein’s head darted around, and he saw her again. Symmette was falling with him, possibly down another vent. Symmette looked mad with rage. Of course…Hein realized what she had done. She had wanted him to strike, probably planning some sort of magical trap or illusion. She had likely already teleported Holder’s body to the top. How though? How was she able to do this?

As if she could read his mind, Symmette quickly fished something out of her pocket. It was an orb, identical to the one Hein formerly used.

“You think you’re moral? Think you’re made perfect by being so pathetic? You don’t even have a sliver of an idea of what real fucking perfection is!” The monstrous woman screamed at him.

Hein was only looking at the orb.

“How did you get that? I’ve only seen one other eye of that make!” Hein shouted, while slipping out his hammer. He didn’t plan on continue falling.

Symmette cackled in response, then surrounded them both in that horrible, familiar light. Hein’s attempted casting was interrupted, he hit the floor, hard, and rolled over with a groan. Symmette managed to land without any issue. She strode up to Hein, slipped the orb away, and readied both of her blades. She was now holding them very intently. Hein’s claw-hand slipped off, guarding him while rearing up like a tarantula.

“By getting it through the proper infernal channels. Some fiendish lord died, I think it was a cat-like one, and this was up for auction. I hardly had to spend any gold…it only took a few soul coins…” Symmette chided.

Hein was up in an instant. Hammer in hand, he healed himself with a spell, appearing to be no longer hurt in the slightest, put away his hammer, and pointed his auto-saw at Symmette.

“He died by my hand! My inventions! My bombs! You use the tool of a foe I’ve already blown to pieces, and in his own lair no less! What do you think I’ll do to you!” Hein roared before starting to charge.

Hein ran, Symmette stayed in place, but started to slip out the orb again. She was going to teleport. Hein couldn’t let her. He remembered a phrase, something Jalakara said to make the eyes plane shift. Hein could replicate his speech with little effort…after all…Jalakara’s blood was what made him a tiefling.

Hein swung his auto-saw at Symmette, cutting one face, and forcing the thing to nearly drop its swords. He shouldn’t do it yet. He had to be nearer to the top. In another sickening flash, Hein found himself and his claw at the front of the tower. Symmette smiled at him, far too calmly. The cut on her left head hadn’t been too deep, but Hein watched it slowly shrink, then another one form on her opposite head. Each one bore a matching, though smaller, cut.

“I expected more from you, Hein Slatecutter! You had a golden chance to strike me down, when I was distracted with that damned sword…but no! Now the sword is forever lost to you, and I don’t feel that you are worth my time! I thought killing you would be fun, but now I see that you will not fight me to the death! I shall make you like the others, and turn you on the gnome and tortle!” Symmette shrieked, the madness coming back out.

The modrons were chanting ravingly, almost as if they had lost all sense of purpose. The spectacle had distracted Hein, along with what they were doing with the Synchronizer. The strange machine, the one Hein had failed to destroy, was churning something out. It looked like a black blob, and lacked most of its defining characteristics. Hein could tell it was one of his clones before it even came out of the machine.

“One of yours I presume. Do not worry, it will soon serve my ends, along with all of your pitiful allies!” Symmette shouted with confidence.

Perhaps Symmette thought Hein would be bothered that she had warped his clone. Hein hardly seemed to notice, and instead was spinning in place, trying to look at all the modrons. Hein stopped, his gaze locked near the machine, and he smiled. Symmette didn’t understand why, and watched the clone unceremoniously fall from the Symmetry Synchronizer.

“Destroy it! Attack!” Hein screamed at the clone.

The clone, though very warped, did just that. It swung its deformed, excess limbs at the machine, and put noticeable dents into it.

Symmette screamed too, though it was more in horror than rage, which caused all the modrons to, in tandem, swarm and tear apart the clone. Hein grinned as the clone exploded. Several modrons were destroyed into a cloud of dust, which briefly obscured the area. Symmette tried to shield her eyes, but it was no use.

In the brief moment of chaos, Hein started to chant in infernal. His vocal tone changed incredibly, falling much deeper, and held a hint of a strange accent.

“Aperi oculos O magnus sum!”

Strangely, Symmette stowed one sword, took out her orb, and tried to say this as well, though her voice couldn’t hold the power that Hein’s did.

The modrons all charged. Hein almost dropped his saw, stowed it properly with trembling hands, and pulled out his construct killer sword. The modrons came at him in a tide, and he swung his blade as fast as possible. Hein’s claw tried to cover his flank, and fought off the modrons valiantly, but was soon overwhelmed. Hein gripped his crafting hammer with his prosthetic hand.

There were too many modrons, and even worse, they weren’t trying to attack him, but trying to grab him. Symmette was watching it all unfold with a smile.

“You do not surely think that incantation will do anything? Maybe that worked with your old master, but he cannot…”

Symmette’s orb flashed violently. A thin veil, a wavering sheet of warped reality, formed behind her. A flame-licked landscaped could be partially seen behind the curtain. Symmette didn’t look at what it was, but the modrons did. Their brief distraction gave Hein the opening he needed. He tapped his boots with his hammer, put it away, reattached his broken claw, then shouted something in dwarven.

Hein had casted fly on himself. He shot up, out of the grasp of the modrons. Symmette looked at the orb, and could tell that the partial plane shift had drained it. She didn’t care. She needed Hein for the final act. Symmette screamed, which somehow caused the rift to close. A winged modron grabbed her from the back, and she commanded it to follow Hein. Several more winged modrons flew off behind her. All of the winged modrons that formerly stood at the statue, were now chasing Hein.

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Azra stood, alone, atop the tower. Symmette had panicked, and told him to wait. She said that something had changed, something that would hurt their chances of returning. She winked away, and left him here. Azra looked down at Grovelthrash, then over to the strange throne. Azra knew what it did; the controller sat on it, with a clear and concise order of how reality had been wronged. The pillar then repaired whatever the defect was. Typically, towers like this were only used by inevitables. Those perfect beings could do the required steps in such a way, that they would never err, and reality would not be corrupted.

Azra couldn’t stop wondering though…why? If she had only gotten the tower to attract him, why even let it run? Getting back to Automata didn’t involve tearing reality…surely? Symmette told him that she only wanted to test the tower, to get his attention. Now, she was saying that she planned to use it to open a perfect portal to Automata, as to not draw suspicion.

That did not make any sense to Azra. He knew they would be branded outlaws, and thought the only way to ensure Symmette’s health and safety was to return with the tower.

What if he could do it a different way?

Azra looked down at Grovelthrash. He could, in theory, cut through anything? Why not reality, why not cut a door to Automata? The tower could even mend the hole. Azra held up his sword, when he realized something. He had two answers in his hand. The sword could stop the modrons, and could also return the tower to where it came from. Grovelthrash was an inevitable.

Azra could be selfish, could cut a hole, then mend it, but the modrons were still insane. What if he called on Grovelthrash to return the tower to Mechanus? He could plead his case, and returning the tower could make up for the blunder Symmette had caused. He would be near-home, the modrons would be stopped. All would be well.

Azra felt a pang of guilt. He’d been standing here, listening to Symmette tell him a plan that made no sense, while his new friends were fighting for their lives. Azra knew the rules better than possibly anyone on this plane. He knew how wrong all of this was, but he also knew that stopping this tower would certainly save his allies. These people had changed him, for the better here, but possibly for the worst in his home.

“Grovelthrash…if you can hear me…please help me fix this…and lead the people here to saftey. Please get the modrons to cease fighting, and help me take this tower back.”

Most people with intelligent weapons spoke to them in their heads. Azra clearly remembered speaking to his sword aloud, all the time.

The sword was silent. He felt nothing sapient inside it. There was no voice, no feeling of emotion, good or ill will, but Azra could tell the sword still had power. Azra thought about the plan, about cutting the controls, but he was hesitant. Destroying controls on a tower like this would only add to the list of crimes he and Symmette would be guilty of.

Azra wouldn’t destroy the tower, but he wouldn’t let his friends stay in danger. He wouldn’t let this danger to Faerun persist. Azra walked up to the throne, and sat down. Azra didn’t understand how, or why, but suddenly, he could feel all the modrons. Grovelthrash must have been working through him! Of course! Azra’s joy was short lived however. Feeling all the modrons did not feel pleasant. It was disorienting, combined with the feeling of being riddled with parasites. Azra used all the mental force he had to command them to stop attacking. For them to cease. For them to stop.

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As Symmette got closer to Hein, she felt herself falling. The modron carrying her had stopped moving. For a split second, she watched Hein drift away. It would not stand. With an enraged scream, Symmette used the orb again. Hein had not gotten out of its range yet, and Symmette teleported both Hein and herself.

The modrons that had tried to fly with her all plummeted from the sky. It was like the modrons near the machine were being pelted by giant, metal hailstones. Several of the worshipping modrons were crushed before they realized what had happened. A few of the modrons fell onto the machine, and before they turned to dust, badly dented it. As the last modron fell, the Symmetry Synchronizer halted its movements. The machine had stopped.

Hein saw the light again, but readied himself. He was in another lower level, only it was mostly bare. Symmette was likely hiding somewhere nearby. Hein scanned the room, but saw nothing.

Symmette had Jalakara’s orb, his eye, and Hein knew little about how they worked. At least this explained how his was so defunct. The eyes did not equally share power, and continued use drained the other. They had to be topped off with soul energy, which Hein had none of, nor would he ever use it. Symmette on the other hand, certainly did. Hein knew she could find ways to replenish the device. Hers likely still had plenty of power, while his was no more.

After waiting and searching for a few minutes, Hein still saw nothing. He commanded his hand to detach and guard his flank.

“That explains how the orb stopped working when she arrived. Damned thing was being taxed from her teleporting in an army…or however she got them here…” Hein thought aloud.

He half expected something to leap at him from the shadows. Nothing did. Hein must have been abandoned. Now he only had questions. Why drop him off? Why abandon her precious machine? What had stopped the modrons…?”

“Holder…Holder did it!” Hein said aloud with a wide smile.

Azra must have disabled the tower. Was it over? Had he cut off the modron army? If so, all Hein had to do was make his way back to the others. Hein tried to get his bearings. There must be some way of knowing where the real exit was? Hein started to wander in the dark, only seeing grey sameness. The only noise he heard was the clacking of his claw’s metal finger-legs as it strode after him.

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Something had changed. Ailia felt that hot-white burning again. Someone was using the tower! Azra! Why would he do that! She had told him specifically to wait for her! Why had he not listened! She had sent Slatecutter to the bowels. He could wander there while she fixed all this. The final act, and everything was falling apart!

Symmette was teleported back to the top of the tower, and saw Azra sitting on the throne.

“Get off! Get off of the control throne!” She shrieked at Azra, charging up to him as she did.

As Azra felt all the levels, he started to sense the anomalies in the tower. Why was a jail cell added to it? That wasn’t…

Azra bolted out of the throne, and ran up to Symmette. One of the few things that could have broken his concentration just happened.

“I am trying to get us home! Are you stupid? Why would you try and control this tower now? After all I’ve worked for. I was so close…and you nearly spoiled it all! I don’t even need you now, just the sword!” Symmette continued to scream.

Azra looked hurt, but equally confused.

“Ailia, we have allies that can get us to the Outlands. Further use of this tower is nonsensical. It has accomplished its function, and I have just stopped all of the modrons. I understand that you are upset, but we have just solved half of our problem. Let us go to Hein and the others. I know he can access other planes. If not, I met a very nice man who smelled of urine. He has a boat that can take us…” Azra tried to explain.

“Silence! You fucking imbecile! You’re saying that I don’t understand! I have planned all of this meticulously! Do you understand the value of a soul? Do you?” Symmette shouted, just inches from Azra’s face.

“Ailia…I do not understand. You are not making any sense.”

Symmette stared at him blankly, all of the emotion flooding from both faces.

“I-I am sorry Azra. I told you before…this place is getting to me…” Symmette said helplessly as she slid past Azra, and stood in front of the throne.

“Azra, let me see your sword.” She asked, sounding cold and demanding.

“Grovelthrash…why do you need it? I did not think…” Azra started.

“You didn’t think! You never do! You’re babbling about a man who smells like piss with a boat…surely not…surely not the shark!” Symmette screamed, her mood snapping back to borderline madness.

After Symmette shouted, she reached out for Grovelthrash’s handle. Azra dipped the sword out of her reach, and watched her with terrified eyes.

“Ailia, you are not well. Please, let us find mister Slate…”

“Slatecutter can’t help us! Give…me…the…sword Azra!” Symmette shrieked.

Symmette instead opted to grab the blade. When she did, her warped hand was cleanly cut in the palm. The blade went in with no effort. Despite this, and the watery blood coming from the wound, Symmette did not let go.

“Give it to me! Give me the fucking sword Azra!” She screamed, both voices loud enough to hurt Azra’s ears.

Azra relented. He couldn’t stand seeing her like this. Right when the sword left his grip, Azra felt a strong wrongness come about him. He was not becoming solid, but something was defiantly off.

Symmette sat in the throne, holding the sword with one hand. The other continued to bleed, and Symmette was using it to grab onto the arm rest.

“Grovelthrash…Sword of Automata…allow me access…” Symmette said, sounding a little to serene for the situation.

Both pairs of eyes widened, Symmette looked down at the sword, and audibly laughed. She lifted Grovelthrash, and actually stabbed the sword down into the floor near the throne. She looked back to Azra, now starting to look as insane as she was acting before taking the sword.

“You really have no idea, do you? The damage you could have done…had the Styx not done its work!” Symmette shouted while fighting back laughter.

Upon hearing “Styx” Azra felt his memory spin. He remembered flying…fighting with…something…then…was it water? He had been kicked into water…but when?

Azra looked back to Symmette, and noticed that her arm was rapidly healing. It must have been something in the tower.

Symmette grinned serenely, though her faces failed to do so at the same time.

“Despite your shortcomings, you did better than I expected. You set up the final act perfectly! Now, I have accomplished all that I wanted. In fact, I could achieve it all now, with your sword, but I won’t. I have already won, and still have one last goal left to accomplish. Now, Slatecutter will see his shortcomings. He will desire servitude now more than ever…once it is finished!”

Azra was still confused, and a little dazed from the memory. Why was “Styx” important? What was it…the river…the river in the Hells…that made anyone who fell in it lose their memories…

Panic started to flood Azra’s veins. Even if he didn’t have blood, he still felt the sensation. Maybe he did have some blood analog. Despite the notion of mud flowing through his body, Azra Holder didn’t care. He only wanted to know what had happened to the woman he loved.

“Ailia…did you do this? Did you make me lose my memory, just to get Hein to work for you? Why? I thought you wanted to draw me out? We can finally be together, we can fix all of this, fix everything!” Azra shouted.

Symmette laughed, the old madness Azra had been afraid of coming full surface.

“Oh, I will fix everything Azra! I could explain it to you, but I will be far easier for you to simply…understand!” Symmette shouted, before her voice dropped again.

“I will tell you this…you have gotten far too attached to this world. This awful piece of refuse on the Prime, this cesspool, and its defenders. You sided with them, the ones who stood against me. Their world cannot prevail. There world will fail Azra. Your world will fail…”

Azra said nothing, but started to walk up towards his sword. As he did, he found his legs simply stop working. Azra wanted to move forward, but his entire lower body felt paralyzed and bolted to the floor.

After Azra found himself stuck, Symmette continued.

“But don’t worry Azra. I will help you see the light. All will be revealed, so be glad!” Symmette leaned forward and shouted with glee.

Azra felt his body harden. He was locked in place, and felt his form shifting. Azra couldn’t explain it, but he knew now this was right. He was serving the right master. Azra’s form started to shift. The stone became more uniform as his features started to smooth out.

“Why don’t we make you as you were before all of this…when you were first a statue…only a little…augmented…” Symmette said softly.

Azra’s armor was changed. Reality itself bent around the armor. It changed from the leather Azra had thought he knew, instantly into blue dragon scale. The armor also felt familiar, but the familiarity was fading fast. Azra was losing himself. Now he only cared about the final act.

Symmette strode off the throne with her hand fully intact, and admired her handywork before looking back at Grovelthrash…or the sword that was once called that…

“Nothing short of you or I can pull that sword out. I know that it was once a part of you, but now, you are a part of me. When I return, and start to finish my ascension, come out of your stasis, and greet the new world.” Symmette said, sounding very proud of herself.

Symmette teleported away in an instant. Azra happily complied with his new master.

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As he continued to wander, Hein checked his wrist device again. It was still broken. Hein thought about the orb Symmette had acquired. It made no sense how she did this. Symmette was something of an arcanist, but she never showed any real promise. She seemed to only use magic to make things symmetrical, or for very basic uses, like shielding or forming magical missiles. In the span of time Hein had known her, Symmette preferred to use machines. Her suddenly acquiring the power to obtain a very rare infernal device was odd to him.

Hein couldn’t stop thinking to himself as he made his way to another staircase. This level looked like one of the lower ones, before the flooded levels that is. Hein was surprised how fast the water was removed when the tower flipped. Perhaps it wasn’t removed, and stood in place as the tower phased? It was a tower made to “fix” reality, so Hein really shouldn’t have been surprised.

Hein blinked, then found himself and his hand falling again. She had teleported them higher up, into another drop. He readied to strike, by Symmette was too fast. She was falling too, right in front of him. She swiped both blades outwards in a sort of scissor-like fashion. One blade caught his eye.

Hein screamed, his head tilting back with the cut. He couldn’t see out of the wounded eye. Panic took hold. Hein reached for his hammer, and threw up a magical shield. Despite being in a prime position to be ran through, Hein didn’t feel any blades bounce off. He tilted his head back forward, growling the words, and managed to mend his eye.

Symmette was gone, and the floor was rapidly approaching.

Hein had no time to utter a spell, even feather fall. His hand, however, reacted much quicker. In the event Hein were to fall and not stop himself, his hand was scripted to do all in its power to brace his impact. It had a force generator, usually used to attack, but could repel against the ground in a situation like this. If done properly, Hein would only be briefly stunned from the impact at best. At worst, he would fall unconscious.

Before Hein had even realized how bad his situation was, the claw had grabbed onto him, and flipped itself around. Hein felt the claw shatter upon impact, the thing sacrificing itself for its master. Despite this, Hein still hit the floor hard, hard enough for him to start to black out.

Hein was hardly conscious. His thoughts kept looping, had it all ended? Was Symmette the only thing left in their way? Even in his hardly aware state, Hein still had a feeling like he was being watched. Being watched, and being shook by the shoulders.

The man in the black scarf shook Hein as hard as he could. It was a miracle, a miracle from Selune. Hein literally fell out of the sky in front of him…and his fall had been broken by that claw. Hein was slumped against the wall, right under the huge chute he had fallen through. Hein looked perfectly fine on the surface, but the man in the black scarf knew that didn’t mean he was free from injury.

Realizing this, the man in the black scarf stopped shaking Hein. Hein appeared to just be semi-conscious. The man in the black scarf knew that, had he hurt his head badly enough, he probably wouldn’t be stirring now.

“Hein you have to wake up! You were wrong about everything! Ailia isn’t the one causing this; a rakshasa has taken her form! It isn’t her it’s an imposter! We have to find the real one and tell Automata what happened! Come on, wake up!” The man in the black scarf shouted.

In Hein’s state, he could hardly listen to the man’s frantic screams. He did hear enough, that Jalakara had somehow lived. How? Who could say? He died in the hells…but that wasn’t important right now. With this revelation, Hein realized something terrible. Now it made sense. That’s why Symmette stood alone in that cell…Jalakara wanted Hein to kill her…the real her… Hein was disgusted with himself, and felt his thoughts blur.

As Hein started to slip into unconsciousness, he saw the short form of a woman striding from a dark hallway behind the man in the black scarf. Her shoulders being wider to accommodate both heads gave her a top-heavy, but strangely careful gait. She was coming up behind the man in the black scarf, and he didn’t realize it.

Before Hein drifted off, he pointed at the figure before passing out.

The man in the black scarf’s head spun around, only to be greeted by the fiend that held Ailia Symmette’s image only a few feet away. The short, disturbingly thin woman had walked down a long hallway without making a sound.

Symmette didn’t even draw a sword. Her arm darted out like a snake’s tongue, striking the man in the black scarf before he could ready himself. The force of the hit threw him backwards, and had him skidding across the floor like a leaf in the wind. For someone specially trained in unarmed combat, the man in the black scarf knew this emaciated woman couldn’t have hit that hard as a normal person. The woman was already small, and being built like a skeletal elf didn’t help.

The thing’s twin heads laughed, and they did so off-key. This surprised the man in the black scarf more than what just happened. He leapt to his feet and rubbed his bruised jaw. After realizing his jaw wasn’t too injured, the man’s mouth snapped shut with a wet click.

The man in the black scarf’s nearly whole black eyes met Ailia’s dual gaze. The fused look of rage and excitement on both her faces just crystallized what the man in the black scarf already knew; that this really wasn’t Ailia Symmette.

“And here I thought you actually knew unarmed combat! Of course, the half-diseased fool who dedicated his life to playing with fish wouldn’t be able to fight how he was trained!”

The imposter laughed, throwing both its heads back as it drew Ailia’s swords. The man in the black scarf just stood in place a few seconds before speaking.

“Neither of us has time for playing games. Why are you here? What do you want? What have you done with the caliban?”

Symmette extended her hand, actually dropping her shortsword in the process, and fired a barrage of arcane missiles at the man in the black scarf. Knowing he couldn’t avoid magic missiles, the man in the black scarf gritted his teeth, and tried to brace himself. All four missiles hit him, the force of the blows resembling strikes with a mace.

The missile barrage didn’t bring the man down, though Symmette could tell it hurt him quite a lot. The man in the black scarf was swaying in place. It was as if he was trying, and failing, to find a position to stand that didn’t cause him pain. Both of the imposter’s faces grinned, though each grin looked distinctly different.

“When I learned you hid from me in a dream world, I wanted to kill you there so very badly. You got lucky mongrel! Knowing that dreams eluded me…I imagine you thought this your salvation…to interrupt my grand plan!”

It laughed again, now sounding more agitated. The man in the black scarf backed away, and the thing followed him, getting even farther away from the unconscious Hein still slumped against the wall.

“Tell me something…why did you do this?” It hissed as it waved its hand around the man in the black scarf’s form.

“I’m not letting you kill anyone else.”

The imposter just laughed, “Of course you don’t understand what I’m talking about!”

The creature continued to walk as it spoke.

“Not that! Why make yourself into something lesser? You’ve studied this fish so long that you thought putting a castrated form of lycanthropy in your blood would make you as strong as you think it is? Was that it? So, you get the gray skin, the doll eyes, and the deformed grin, but you don’t get any benefits. You don’t have the curse’s ability to hurt magical creatures, just something to scare pirates and orcs! Why do that to yourself? Were you that bad at fighting?”

The man in the black scarf’s eyes narrowed. Symmette almost laughed, but it realized this wasn’t a look of agitation, but of study.

“Based on what Hein told me, you’re a male fiend, are you not?”

The false Symmette just grimaced. The monster was rendered mute by its own rage, which was obvious by the way both faces glared at the man in the black scarf.

The man in the black scarf was correct. This fiend quite hated its stolen form. It must have been forced into taking it. Why it needed the body of a two-headed woman, the man in the black scarf couldn’t guess, but she did have connections. Perhaps it needed both her connections and unique mutation? That would explain why it didn’t just copy an ettin or other two-headed thing.

“Ironic you make that face and say that I’m lesser.” The man in the black scarf half-whispered as his eyes continued to study the fiend.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“Obviously I don’t look down on Ailia, but you certainly seem to. Why then, am I’m so much lesser to you? You had to steal her skin after all; I was given this honor by a sacred order.”

The fiend didn’t answer. One head clamped its perfectly aligned teeth as if it were chewing something. The man in the black scarf only cocked an eyebrow in response before speaking again.

“I’m not diseased; I’m one of the Stolen Fangs. I’m divinely changed to be permanently like this. But you…why steal a form you seem so disgusted with? Rakshasas usually have a taste for the extravagant and beautiful. If I’m so repulsive to you, why did you steal the skin of a woman, a caliban, with a frail body and two…?”

The monster interrupted him before he could finish.

“You think I had a choice! The stupidity that mortals exhibit will never fail to surprise me!”

Symmette used a six-fingered mage hand to lift up the discarded sword. Once retrieved, the thing did a double flourish with both blades. The display was so fast, the man in the black scarf only saw a dizzying blur.

“I plan to pin open your body just like a laboratory specimen! Know that Jalakara the Beloved does not do what you will soon experience to all that stand against him! My usual methods have my enemies far too glad to die in my name…but you will be the exception!”

The man in the black scarf didn’t take a fighting position. He didn’t even draw his weapon. It was a strange not-quite axe about two feet long, resembling a one-handed scythe. It was mostly metal, and had a long hand guard on the haft.

The man in the black scarf didn’t look afraid or about to attack. The man’s strange mouth contorted, the wider part staying shut and flowing with his cheeks. He almost looked like he thought something was funny. If anything, he almost looked amused.

“You keep saying I’m a fool, but the real foolishness here is how badly you’ve underestimated us all. As far as these adventurers have come, do you really think they’ll fall so easily? You stand there, stuck in a form you hate while chiding me how badly I fight. If you’re using her memories, then you won’t find any information about me or the adventurers.” The man in the black scarf said as he looked over to Hein, who was starting to stir.

Hein wasn’t really hurt, just discombobulated. He only needed a little more time.

“I’ve met both the woman you’ve impersonated, and some of the people you’re trying to kill. You have the cards stacked against you, rakshasa.” The man in the black scarf shouted at the fiend.

The man in the black scarf started to walk towards the imposter, but he didn’t appear to attack. All he did was lean in and snap his mouth open and shut. Forming right in front of the false Ailia were giant shark jaws made of pale light. These jaws perfectly mimicked the man’s bite, causing them to close around Jalakara before the fiend could blink.

The jaws were gone in an instant, but the wounds weren’t. Jalakara didn’t know if his opponent knew this, but non-magic attacks against him were useless. Mundane blades wouldn’t pierce his skin, but the shark teeth made of light did just that. The spectral jaws clamped around Jalakara’s collarbone, and he felt like he had been simultaneously stabbed by a flurry of burning daggers. The creature staggered back, nearly stunned by the radiant attack, and looked to be dazed. Jalakara had never seen anything like this in all of his very long years of life.

The man in the black scarf didn’t attack again; he only walked closer to Jalakara. He reached into his pocket, and slipped out what looked to be a green eyeball the size of a small apple. The eye was shedding light in the somewhat dark area. Jalakara knew exactly what it was, and why the shark-like man had it.

Jalakara sneered at the man’s lit up face, seeing pits that resembled freckles spattered around his nose. It was the same pores that sharks had on their snouts.

“Teeth made of light aren’t something I’m going to forget…but a nothic eye will not harm me. This woman’s putrid form isn’t weak against the magic of death…and even if you had the right magics, you need the rest of the nothic attached for them to work!” It shouted.

The man in the black scarf flashed a smile. The grin he had flashed Jalakara was an unsettling smile; not one of desperation and not what the imposter was used to seeing.

“Not if it isn’t necromancy, and not if this eye has an illithid tadpole inside it.”

Jalakara couldn’t dodge from something intangible like a gaze. The psychic energy blasted both of his heads, washing them in white hot agony and confusion. The augmented nothic eye fried both of his brains with psychic energy. The fiend holding Ailia Symmette’s form had both pairs of eyes light up like torches. Light came out of both screaming mouths, which signaled to the man in the black scarf that it was time to attack.

The man in the black scarf charged forward. He knew he wouldn’t have much time. As the thing psychically burned, he hit it with another smiting bite, which again missed the neck but made its mark. Once in range, the man drew his weapon and tried to swing true.

At the last second, Jalakara shifted his head that found itself in the blade’s path. The right head went sideways, and the weapon’s scythe-like blade plunged through the head’s cheeks. The man in the black scarf felt its teeth clamp around the blade. On instinct he dropped the weapon and tried to leap back. The man in the black scarf wasn’t fast enough. Jalakara not only held her image, but had Symmette’s speed. The man in the black scarf felt two swords slice into his thick skin before clearing the distance.

Thankfully, the man in the black scarf had gotten far enough away to avoid being cut in half or disemboweled. The pain was still there though. He clasped his torso, and was forced to keep his postured lowered. Ever since making himself into a shark-shifted humanoid, the man in the black scarf had a high tolerance for pain, but this was impossible to ignore. The wounds must have been deep.

Jalakara dropped both swords, then yanked out the scythe-weapon from his clenched jaws. The man in the black scarf could only stare at the asymmetric nightmare, now laughing as if it hadn’t even been wounded.

“Sages, no matter how bad they are at what they study, should not take up arms.” The fiend growled, its voice starting to warp as it did.

The head that had bit the sickle blade now sported exposed teeth, and even stranger the creature seemed to be lacking blood. Just a split second before the man in the black scarf realized his error; Jalakara did a flip to the right. After landing back on his feet, Jalakara smiled at him with both faces. With very little effort, the imposter tossed the weapon far away.

The man in the black scarf stood with both fists raised and legs wide but braced to the front and back. Jalakara used two inhuman mage hands to retrieve his blades, and slowly advanced towards the man in the black scarf.

“You want to know what happened to the deformed woman from the Outlands? The one who’s form I have been forced to take? I have her here!”

Jalakara ran forward in a flash. The man in the black scarf kicked his leg out, well over his head, but the false Symmette flipped out of the way. Seeing the fiend’s speed was enough for the man in the black scarf to know he wouldn’t be able to stop Jalakara.

If he couldn’t stop it, he would slow it down.

The two were locked in some sort of twisted dance. The man in the black scarf fought competently, but was simply too slow. Every kick he tried was dodged almost before he finished. Jalakara mostly dodged, but the few times he attacked, the attacks struck true. Each sword slash was shallow, but the man in the black scarf was slowed down significantly by every stacking wound.

The man in the black scarf took the offensive, and managed to kick Jalakara in the shoulder with the heel of his foot. It was a lunging, sidestepping kick that held all the power the man could summon. Despite having such a frail form, the kick hardly moved the creature. Even worse, Jalakara looked fully uninjured.

Jalakara’s eyes almost lit up as he stood in place. The man in the black scarf retracted his leg with a look of surprise as the thing smiled.

“Just as I expected, you cannot harness the power to harm a being like me.” He laughed.

Jalakara’s twin faces smiled sickly, but the man in the black scarf had suspected this. He didn’t have strong enough chi to pierce its resistance to mundane attacks. His feet and fists were useless, though without his magic weapon, all he was left with was his magical bites…bites that had to be used at a range.

The man in the back scarf jumped back, almost supernaturally far, and bit the air. The shark jaws came back and nearly struck the false Symmette. Jalakara anticipated his attack though, dipped down from the bite, and ran at the man in the black scarf twice as fast.

Normally, those trained in esoteric, unarmed combat can strike much faster and much more frequently than those skilled in conventional arms. This was not the case here. The imposter was like a tornado of blades. Jalakara spun on one foot, and did so in such a dizzyingly quick manner that the man in the black scarf had no time to dodge. The series of cuts shredded one of the man in the black scarf’s arms into near uselessness.

After his initial assault, Jalakara charged again. The man in the black scarf tried to retaliate, but every snap of his jaws was dodged and countered with at least two more attacks. The man in the black scarf leapt back again, only this time out of desperation.

The shark-like man was now covered in wounds. Most were not too deep or mortal, but the man in the black scarf was struggling to stand. His black eyes were so wide; the white usually invisible was actually showing. Most of his shirt had been cut away, and all the cuts in his gray flesh showed how thick his skin was. It looked strange on his thin body.

Jalakara held up a bloodstained sword, and actually licked the sword clean of blood with his intact head. Such an act would have been unthinkable to the real Symmette.

Jalakara smacked his stolen lips, and walked up to the man in the black scarf slowly.

“Doesn’t taste like fish. I’m surprised; it actually tastes just like human blood. I would have never thought…”

As the imposter got closer it sheathed both swords. The man in the black scarf fell to one knee with his head lowered. Jalakara just beamed with joy.

“You know, I have Ailia here. I kept her in a cell, alive, and made sure any cuts or bruises I inflicted were thoroughly scattered. I placed all of those around her body very, very well.”

As the fiend spoke, the man in the black scarf’s eyes drifted over to Hein. He was awake! Not just that, but he had his hammer out, and was repairing his claw! The man in the black scarf’s eyes drifted back to meet the rakshasa’s, hoping that it wouldn’t notice.

Luckily (or unluckily) for the man in the black scarf, he had its full attention.

Jalakara continued, “…she rejected my mercy you see…something I am unaccustomed to. I offered her so much! I could have made her beautiful, made her match without being so deformed! She looked at me horrified when I offered! Horrified! That wretched thing, thin enough to die without magic and warped beyond all hope rejected me! Me!”

Jalakara roared. The fiend’s voice was starting to come through, as was its other features. The man in the black scarf saw Symmette’s hand, her disturbingly wiry and six-fingered one; snap its joints the opposite way. The fiend’s skin was also darkening in small patches. The man in the black scarf could only guess how much longer he could retain the woman’s strange shape.

“She can keep her broken body and die at my pleasure! I will not fall as a pitiful freak! I will harness this accursed design and become a lord! I will mirror the greatest forebear of the rakshasas fully, and stand on the level of the Arch Devils! Once I am a god, and once you all are dead or slaves, I am curious to see how she reacts to losing an arm and leg on each opposite side!” The rakshasa frantically screamed, its voice a blur of Symmette’s and something worse.

Jalakara held up his twisted hands, almost as if he was going to grab the center of his head had he been a regular humanoid, but stopped shy in front of each white eye.

“How much longer must I wear this disgusting form?” The thing growled in a worried tone.

He stopped and remembered his supposed victory, the brief period of panic evaporating at the sight of the fallen shark-sage.

Jalakara didn’t have time to gloat though. Inside his mind, he saw an unsettlingly clear image. Though just a flash, just an instant, something about the foreign thought scared him. The image was a man made of stone, a man that somehow Jalakara knew to be an actual human and not a statue. It was Holder…but from the past. It was how he was when he used Grovelthrash, before they became one. The man was unnaturally clean, and was wearing blue armor that was clearly made from dragon skin. His eyes glowed with arcane power, and when he opened his mouth to scream, that same blue light came out. He was breathing lightning.

Was Holder resisting the change? Could he?

The image didn’t stun Jalakara long, but that split second was enough time. The man in the black scarf lunged, mouth first, and clamped his teeth onto the throat of Jalakara’s intact head. The fiend screamed as the man in the black scarf’s eyes rolled back into his head, now white with hunger. With both fists clenched, Jalakara forced out his arms. The double strike threw off the man in the black scarf, but tore the wound significantly more.

Jalakara’s fiendish strength was returning as his stolen form started to degrade. While Ailia Symmette had trouble lifting anything heavier than a longsword, this fiend now had enough power to throw the man in the black scarf several feet away and nearly incapacitate him. Jalakara could feel teeth still embedded inside his wounded neck. The wound would have been mortal, but since the man in the black scarf’s teeth weren’t magical, it was just something to be shrugged off. Jalakara knew that these teeth would fall out of his wound shortly.

The man in the black scarf staggered up, knowing full well he didn’t have the strength to finish this fight. The pain he felt was enough to spin his vision, he wouldn’t be standing long. Even though he was trained in combat, the man in the black scarf wasn’t used to anything like this. He’d never been wounded to this extent before.

Knowing the shark-like man was on his last legs, Jalakara lunged in again to attack. The man in the black scarf knew this last strike would be effortless. The man in the black scarf’s posture stayed half-limp, as if he were on the verge of fainting.

Before he fell to the ground, the man in the black scarf snapped his jaws again. Jalakara was caught off guard, and recoiled from the radiant jaws. The vanishing wound suddenly was burned back into place, but this didn’t finish off the fiend. Jalakara roared again, and shortly vanished with what the man in the black scarf knew to be an invisibility spell.

The man in the black scarf may have lost this fight, but it wasn’t all for naught. He could see Hein finishing a spell, apparently unwounded, and now realizing what was happening. He had done it.

As if the fiend could taste the hope, Jalakara struck. He appeared in a flash behind the man in the black scarf. The thing shoved both short swords through the man’s stomach. The rakshasa was able to lift the man in the black scarf over his heads, then throw him several feet away. Jalakara’s mismatched faces laughed out of sync. The man in the black scarf was bleeding out fast.

The imposter’s laughing started to fade once it saw some sort of orange, molten steel-like light hit the man in the black scarf. Immediately after this, the shark man’s wounds stopped bleeding.

Something was wrong.

The fiend’s plans were shattered once it heard Hein scream. Engineer Slatecutter, his old pupil, had come to meet him once again.

Hein charged, holding his claw up, and dove at Jalakara. Despite his stolen speed, the fiend hardly dodged the attack. It shouted, and flung out two more barrages of magical missiles. The missiles were all intercepted by a shield from Hein. He dove in again, this time with his auto-saw, and managed to cut Jalakara near his wound.

Jalakara wasn’t fighting like he did with the man in the black scarf. He seemed to be on the defensive.

“I was so close! You would have killed her! Tore her apart! Saved this filthy world! And then when it was all over…you’d realize that I gave it to you! I gave you the opportunity to crush your enemies! The guilt would fade! With my patronage and help, you would have become a demi-god!” The fiend shrieked.

“And at the cost of what?” Hein retorted as he swung his saw again.

Jalakara intercepted the saw this time, causing a flurry of sparks to light up the area, and managed to counterattack with one shortsword. Hein’s magical shield was still in place, and caused the blow to glance out before vanishing.

Hein let out a loud roar, swung his claw, and caused it to detach. As this happened, Hein’s auto saw started to glow. The claw leapt at Jalakara from the back, which he dodged, but Hein was waiting for this. Though his blow didn’t connect solidly, the surge of magic from his saw bathed Jalakara in radiant light. The fiend screamed, its voices warping back to their original origin before he regained his composure.

Hein didn’t push his attack again, but pointed the screaming saw at Jalakara as he addressed the fiend.

“You make me believe a lie to kill a crazy woman who I would have never seen again! Did you think I would kneel to you after I killed her? Pledge away all that was left? Did you really believe I would sacrifice everything just from a mistake? I would have ended this properly!”

“Curse the shark! My rage will end him beyond death!” Jalakara roared as he glared at Hein’s still fallen ally.

“He isn’t your concern Jalakara, I am! You would do well to forget him!” Hein shouted at the monster.

Hein knew that the man in the black scarf had been healed by his arcane jolt, or else he would have bled to death by now. Why though, was he so still?

“Forget him? Never! He ruined everything!” Jalakara answered, which broke Hein’s focus on the wounded man.

“Rot, you bastard! He only sped this up!” Hein roared back as he charged at Jalakara, his auto-saw glowing bright enough to fully illuminate the two.

Jalakara dodged the swing easily, and leapt back a few feet.

“You will not hit me with that attack again…” It growled, still using Symmette’s voices.

Hein saw Jalakara start to cast, and smiled. He knew that the fiend would try and turn invisible…but the spell Hein had used prevented just that.

Jalakara was done with arguing. He vanished from sight. Hein stopped mid charge, and his hand scuttled to guard his flank. Hein cursed under his breath. He had forgotten that rakshasas could make themselves immune to certain spells. Hein didn’t know if he was fully immune while holding Symmette’s form, but it looked like the radiant damage harmed him. Maybe not? Maybe it was an act.

Hein shook himself out of his thoughts, and readied himself for an attack. Hein had a perfect defense against invisible attackers, but Jalakara was right. In order to use it, he had to drop his radiant spell.

“Jalakara…you know me. It won’t be that easy…” Hein taunted.

Hein waited. He knew Jalakara would strike once he casted the spell. Hein’s false hand slipped out his hammer, while his mobile claw continued to guard his back. Hein shouted, feigning a spell speech word, but instead shouting a dwarven word for coward.

“If you let the adventurers and crazy people go, I may reconsider your offer…” Hein muttered.

After he said this, Hein circled once, then attempted to cast the spell. He hoped Jalakara would think about what he said, either believing him, or laughing at the prospect. This worked, as once Jalakara revealed himself, Hein cast the spell. Hein’s form blurred and shimmered

Jalakara leapt at Hien, and managed to stab him. One of Symmette’s blades pierced his armor, but the attack was in a spot where the armor was thick. Jalakara couldn’t pick out a venerable spot, due to Hein’s spell blurring his image. Hein now knew casting a spell on a rakshasa wouldn’t work, at least not the spells he could cast, but defensive spells on himself still did.

Hein was still stabbed however, and Jalakara pressed the attack. Hein’s claw intercepted several swings, and his blur spell kept most of the attacks at bay, but the fiend still got frightingly close to hitting Hein’s face. Jalakara always kept one head focused on the claw, even if he wasn’t attacking it. Hein couldn’t stay on the defensive, but if Jalakara had all of Symmette’s abilities, he wouldn’t be able to match the fiend’s speed.

Hein silently commanded his claw to back off, and stop defending him. The claw scuttled back, which allowed for Jalakara to advance completely. The thing laughed, sounding like a fusion his usual laugh and Symmette’s stolen laugh. The flurry of shortswords spun like a swarm of sawblades, and Hein only managed to parry them for half a second. One of Jalakara’s blades caught Hein near the upper cheek. The blade bit in, much too deep, and Hein shouted and nearly fell back. Thankfully, Hein didn’t lose his spell.

Jalakara stopped for an instant to cackle, with both heads now focused on Hein. The second the laugh left both of its lips; the claw pounced. Symmette’s near insignificant weight couldn’t stop the automaton from knocking Jalakara down. Hein uttered another spell as Jalakara stabbed both blades into the claw, then threw it off of him much like he did the man in the black scarf. The claw only briefly laid on the ground, and scuttled up quickly after it was thrown.

When the claw hit Jalakara, a burst of arcane energy came from the impact. The energy’s clash echoed, and the sound lingered longer than it should have. That magical energy shot to Hein, and caused the wound on his face to heal. Hein smiled at his adversary, then charged to attack Jalakara, who did the same.

Jalakara lost his footing, and slid on the puddle of transparent grease that had oozed from the claw during Hein’s casting. This time, he made sure not to use the inky stuff. Jalakara didn’t fall, but couldn’t properly defend himself from Hein’s attack. Hein’s auto-saw struck the thing’s wounded head, and did a noticeable amount of damage to Jalakara’s neck.

Hein felt a rush of excitement as he saw blood start to pour from the wound. Both of Jalakara’s faces looked horrified, if only for a moment. The fiend stowed his swords in a flash, and drew two pistols. Hein hardly had time to react, but his blurred form caused one bullet to bounce off his armor. Despite Jalakara having two pistols, only one bullet had hit Hein.

Hein’s head shot to the man in the black scarf, who now had a bullet wound in his side. Hein didn’t see Jalakara stow his pistols, and draw his blades again. Thankfully, Hein’s claw was able to intercept Jalakara’s attack, causing the thing’s blades to narrowly avoid Hein yet again. Hein kept his eyes on Jalakara, watching as the fiend started to dismantle the claw in a dizzying surge of blade strikes.

Hein slipped out his hammer, knelt down, and felt of the man in the black scarf as he uttered the spell. It was only six seconds. Hein’s claw was totally destroyed, but did visibly injure Jalakara. Once the claw was done, both heads glared at Hein.

Hein felt healing energy go into the man in the black scarf, then again added some of his arcane magic. Emulating what bards did, only with craft and not song, Hein saw the bullet wound vanish. This would be enough to keep him alive. Hein put away the hammer, and noticed that Jalakara was running with one sword and one drawn pistol. He stopped a short distance from Hein, and pointed the pistol at the man in the black scarf.

“You know I can shoot him. You cannot stop me, but you can heal the damage. Let me explain; I am going to fire the two remaining bullets into the shark. You have a spell, a sort of aura, that can heal anyone inside. If you do not cast it, and do not heal me at least once, I will divert all of my attention to the man on the floor.” Jalakara explained calmly.

“Choke on your own tongue!” Hein screamed, his blurring form causing his voice to sound distorted.

Jalakara fired, and hit the man in the black scarf very close to the chest.

Hein knew what he meant. The spell only needed a word, and would heal for a minute. In that minute, Hein may be able to revive his ally, and maybe both of them could…

“I will hit his head, even if you attack me now…” Jalakara said, as he slipped the gun away.

“I have magical missiles that do not miss. The next strike will end him.” Jalakara growled much less civilly.

Hein audibly cursed, then shouted the spell-word. His form returned to normal, then an aura appeared, and Hein made it heal Jalakara once, then focused on the man in the black scarf. After a second or two, Jalakara advanced. Hein nearly stumbled over the man in the black scarf. Jalakara slipped out his gun, and aimed down. Hein was able to divert the shot, but lost his focus in doing so. As Hein charged, swinging down at Jalakara’s gun, the fiend fired, missed the target, sidestepped, and counterattacked. Jalakara’s shortsword found its way in Hein’s side, piercing the armor easier than it should have. Hein was able to fall back, and avoid getting ran through, but the damage was still severe.

Hein screamed, letting out the word he used to heal before as he did. Hein’s aura managed to heal the worst of the wound. Hein was still bleeding, and Jalakara was ready for this. He swung both blades out at Hein in two outward arcs. Hein blocked one easily. The other glanced off his armor, and hit him in the side of the neck.

Hein again used the aura to heal his deep wound, and Jalakara again narrowly missed him, or gave him a shallow cut. This happened about three times before Jalakara leapt back. Hein knew that he was going to try and turn invisible again.

Hein kept facing Jalakara, but started to walk to the side. Jalakara mimicked him, and did not immediately attack.

“What now? You’ve obviously failed to win me back over? What do you want at this point, just to kill me and everyone here?” Hein asked as he watched the Fiend’s steps.

Jalakara smiled widely, with both faces, and started to speak as he circled with Hein.

“Do you think I quit so easily? I plan to use this tower, for a purpose that neither the shark nor the abomination knows. Once I do, I am fairly confident that you will change your mind!”

Hein scowled, “And what about the others? What about said abomination, and the adventurers…?”

“Oh, the shark will be sent to the hells. I still have…ideas…I must try on miss Symmette…and the adventurers. I will leave that up to you.” Jalakara said far too calmly.

Hein stopped walking, and noticed that he had baited Jalakara back near the greased section of floor. It was right where Hein remembered it to be. Knowing this, Hein drew his hammer in a flash, his clamp-like prosthetic able to do so with startling ease, and shouted. A small orb of fire shot from the hammer, and narrowly missed Jalakara. It did, however, ignite the grease.

Hein wasn’t sure if the burning grease would count as a spell, or a natural fire. The fire didn’t burn the monster, but it did cause it to briefly get distracted. Hein charged in, and swung lower, hoping Jalakara would fall, but if not, hoping to at least damage one of his matchstick legs.

Jalakara dipped to the side, ignoring the grease, and parried Hein’s attack. With his parry, Jalakara directed Hein stumbling forward, and counterattacked. Even though he didn’t take the time to precisely strike a vital spot, the fiend still managed to again pierce Hein’s armor. The blade sunk into Hein’s stomach, and Hein nearly collapsed again.

Jalakara drew the sword out, stopping before it ran too deep. Hein scurried back a few feet, and again healed himself. Jalakara smirked in response. He watched Hein heal himself two more times, then watched the aura fade.

“Pity, I was hoping you could keep that up longer. Did you think I had forgotten about your claw pissing on the floor? You’re lucky that worked at all!” Jalakara shouted through wide grins.

Hein was losing ideas. He knew Jalakara, if he was using Symmette’s magic, had limited spells. All Jalakara really needed though, was one good use of invisibility. Without his claw, Hein couldn’t stop him. Hein thought he had enough magic for blur. He really hoped he did.

Hein blinked, holding his eyes shut a little longer, then started to cast the spell. Jalakara was upon him in an instant. Hein nearly dropped his hammer, before he noticed that Jalakara didn’t have one of his swords. Instead, he had a pistol.

Jalakara fired. One bullet bounced off, but the other one went through Hein’s armor. Hein grunted, feeling the hot metal leave his side, and started to heal himself again. Hein was running out of magic.

Jalakara fired the remaining bullets in the strange pistol. One got Hein in the shoulder, but the other two glanced off his armor. Jalakara drew the other pistol, and laughed.

“You have lost some much of your promise Slatecutter! Why have you not managed to surpass this…weapon…?” Jalakara asked as he looked at the pistol

“I bet you don’t even know what that thing is, you stupid motherfucker.” Hein growled, letting magic into the words.

Both of Jalakara’s heads twitched back. Both noses were bleeding. It lifted the hand holding the pistol to its nostrils, and gently tapped the blood with a knuckle. Symmette’s blood was so watery, the red color was almost lost. The fiend looked astonished.

Hein only had a moment to think. Psychic magic…maybe Symmette’s weakness interfered with Jalakara’s magic immunity? It was worth a shot.

“At least you picked the right woman to imitate, she isn’t a cat, but I know you both choke down mice like owls!” Hein shouted as he ran back from Jalakara.

Jalakara tossed the empty pistol down, and leapt to meet Hein.

“You can’t kill me with a cantrip Slatecutter!” The fiend screamed, its real voice starting to come out.

“You can’t operate the tower without that idiot Holder! Says a lot about your brainpower!” Hein retorted mockingly.

That one managed to hit Jalakara harder, the blood flowing from his nose increased, and his eyes briefly glowed. Jalakara now looked truly angry. Hein started to again insult the fiend’s pride, but Jalakara put away a sword and held up both hands. He muttered some words in infernal, which Hein knew to be part of a spell.

Hein ran at the fiend, trying to swing his auto-saw at one of the fiend’s necks. Jalakara dipped back, still got one of his necks cut, but finished his spell. Hein kept the attack up, but saw the landscape around him change. Everything started to shimmer and fade. Hein recognized the tortured earth and sky; it was the Hells.

Jalakara smiled, then held up his six-fingered hands. Hellfire started to flow in. Hein started to scream, but before he did, choked out a spell word. Having seen what happens to souls condemned here, Hein’s fear was overtaking him. Hein hoped Jalakara wouldn’t notice.

Jalakara laughed harder than he had done since revealing himself. He walked up to Hein, without his swords, and motioned around the flames. Jalakara had willed flames to get close enough to burn Hein, but not outright ignite him.

“This is the alternative Slatecutter! You can rule with me forever, or burn here forever!” Jalakara shouted.

As he turned away from Hein to expose more of the damned, Jalakara felt a cut in his back. The blow cut through Symmette’s armor, and left a very large wound on his back. Jalakara screamed, his phantasmal force faded, and Hein strode up, looking unafraid.

“If I die, I will not end up here! You never got my soul Jalakara, and you will never have it!” Hein shouted.

As Hein did this, his eyes started to glow. Jalakara knew it was magic…magic that made Hein immune to fear.

Hein readied his sword, but Jalakara did the unexpected. He started clapping.

“I didn’t think you would surprise me like that Hein! Bravo! I am very impressed.” He said in Symmette’s twin voices, which actually sounded happy.

In Hein’s state, he didn’t care. Hein swung again, but swung his sword too hard. Hein was trying to grab it with both hands, though his false hand couldn’t hold the blade that tightly. Jalakara did a flip in place, kicking Hein as he did, and landed very far away. Much too far for Symmette to jump.

“I admire your dedication to such a hopeless cause. You are smart Slatecutter, have you not figured it out?” Jalakara asked as it shot out a barrage of magic missiles.

Hein let two missiles hit him, but one hit the man in the black scarf. This nearly broke Hein’s concentration, though he managed to hold the spell. Hein glanced over to the man in the black scarf, who didn’t appear to be bleeding, and then back to Jalakara.

The fiend was still standing in place. He still had both swords sheathed, and wasn’t moving. He was only smiling. Hein ran back to the man in the black scarf, and used another spell. He didn’t have many left now. After this, he only glared at Jalakara.

“Pity. I thought you may pick up on it. I have already acquired Holder, and can go to the top whenever I see fit. I did all of this for you Hein…and because of him…you will have to be forced to see the light.”

Jalakara vanished from sight in a magical flash. The second Jalakara was gone, Hein released his grip on the saw. The blade stopped moving, which allowed for Hein to stow it. Hein took out his rod. He drained the last of the magic from it. This didn’t completely replenish his spells, but he got enough back to work with.

Hein started to heal the man in the black scarf, but he realized something horrible. Being so close to this man, especially while not in combat, Hein could now see the extent of his wounds. The man in the black scarf was lucky to have not been killed by Jalakara’s attacks. Hein was not a physician, but medically speaking, a man in this condition should not have been able to take a pistol shot, and two magic missiles. Even if Hein used all of his magic, the man in the black scarf would not be in fighting shape. Not only that, but Hein would need his spells if he was going to stop Jalakara.

Hein couldn’t help but think. What if he couldn’t stop Jalakara? If he had Holder bewitched, operating the tower would be easy. But why? If not to make things symmetrical… Hein realized that a device that could alter reality should be strong enough to change a fiend. Devils went through promotions, but Hein didn’t know how rakshasa gained strength. This tower would be the one way to do it though.

Hein casted a somewhat stronger healing spell on the man in the black scarf. No effect was immediately visible, but Hein did notice that he started to breathe better. Hein grinned, and thought to himself a way to get to the top of the tower.

Hein fished the shards of the orb from where he had stowed them. Hein sat down onto the floor, and thought. He eyed his saw, which still had Jalakara’s blood on it. Normally, when an item was spent of power like this, it would never work again. Maybe Hein could do something about it.

Normally, the mending cantrip did not restore magic to an item, but what if Hein could with another way? Jalakara’s orb was working far better than his due to the soul energy the fiend has access too. Hein wondered…what if he didn’t really need soul energy?

Hein only needed the orb to work once. Hein tried to drip the blood from the saw onto the shattered orb. Hein then started to mend it. The orb was not fully restored, but did manage to become mostly circular. Hein grabbed it, and tried to use it. The orb was silent.

Hein sighed. He should have known that wouldn’t work. Hein looked over to the man in the black scarf. Hein started to try and pick up the man, but decided against it. There was no way Hein could carry him in that state.

Hein checked over the man, who was still injured but stable, and not getting visibly worse. Hein hated to do it, but knew he had to leave him. The modrons were on the upper levels by now, and Hein knew that Jalakara wanted the man in the black scarf…mostly intact.

Anger started to fog Hein’s mind. He had almost been tricked by Jalakara…the very fiend that caused him to work in the hells to begin with. Hein didn’t want to leave his ally, but knew he didn’t have a choice. Hein walked away from the spot he had fought Jalakara, and quickly realized something. This area looked very familiar to another one he had mapped in the tower. If Hein was right, a stairwell wouldn’t be too far away.

As Hein ran to where he thought the stairs to be, he realized that Jalakara probably wanted him to find it. Jalakara didn’t want to be kept waiting, but he also wanted time to do whatever he needed to at the tower’s top. Hein doubted that Jalakara would activate the tower without an audience.

Upon reaching the stairwell, Hein could feel that he had his higher-level spells back. Burning one for this would be a necessity. Hein casted a spell of flying, then rapidly ascended.

******************************************************************************

Rexi and Qresh had wondered where Hein had gone. They saw his orb glow, but it was only around him, then he vanished. Rexi had tried to scry on one of the stones, but only saw Symmette alone in the room. Rexi had no idea how she got rid of Holder’s body that fast, but Symmette just stood in place. Rexi described to Qresh what was happening, who only grunted in response.

Rexi saw Hein enter, then saw Symmette just stand there. The strangest thing happened after that. Hein struck Symmette with his large claw, knocked her to the floor, then vanished in a flash of light. It was the orb; he must have used it. Perhaps he had gotten Azra coordinates? After he vanished, Symmette stayed on the ground. Rexi was watching her. Due to her poor physique, it was impossible to tell if she was dead or not if she was lying still.

“Qresh, this may be over. I think Hein killed her. It didn’t take much, maybe she never healed from that fight with us?” Rexi said as she looked into the scrying stone.

Qresh was busy walking around the room, and closing the eyelids of the dead. He strode over to Dolidra’s severed head, and with sad eyes, put two clawed fingers on her eyelids. The eyes closed, but when Rexi let him know about Symmette, Qresh’s attention was immediately changed.

“Hang on…lemme see…” Qresh growled.

Rexi stepped aside, and Qresh glanced at the stone for exactly two seconds.

“We need to get up there…right now…” Qresh said with determination.

“I…I don’t exactly know where that is…” Rexi replied.

“I see a winder…balcony too…come on ‘fore we run outta time!” Qresh shouted, and practically grabbed Rexi as he bolted out of the room.

“Qresh why do we need to go…” Rexi started, before Qresh ran to a very similar looking window in the control room. He opened it, leapt out, then started to fly to the top of the tower.

Rexi didn’t know how Qresh planned to identify the window, but knew the tower had some kind of defenses in place.

Nothing seemed to be trying to stop them.

“I looked at one o’them there rocks, an it sayed somethin’ bout how the tower ain’t shootin’ no more. We go save ettin girl, then get to the top.” Qresh growled as he flew and scanned the sides of the tower.

“…Qresh she tried to kill us. Saving her shouldn’t be a priority. We have to save all of Faerun…we can’t keep getting caught up on this!” Rexi yelled over the wind, though her tone wasn’t overly angry, just annoyed.

“Give me just a minute an’ I’ll go. Hein didn’t kill her…why’d he just do that an’ not stab her? Somethin’ ain’t been right ‘bout this bullshit from the get-go…mhmm…” Qresh retorted.

“We still need to find the win…” Rexi started.

Her protest was shattered, along with the window Qresh was looking for. In an instant, they were in that overly lavish room. It smelled heavily of Calimshan incents. The room was lavish in the extreme…quite atypical for an object from Mechanus.

Very fine rugs and cushions were placed over the bronze walls and floors. Rexi and Qresh walked up to the lone room, the cell Symmette had fallen in. Qresh quickly walked ahead of Rexi, who drew her sword.

“Qresh, be careful!” Rexi whisper-shouted.

Qresh stopped at the door, and stared at what he saw inside.

“Rexi…c’mere…”

The geas had failed…but it or Hein would be back. Hein had not killed her yet. She may yet live. There may yet be hope.

She remembered the dance.

It was simple, just a few steps, the up and down shaking of closed fists, the slight bodily sway. It was a guilty pleasure of hers. Symmette did it for exactly two minutes, before she sent off the visitor rejection forms. It was not an allotted break, but one she had made for herself.

If she had truly ran Automata, she would somehow make the modrons dance. She had done it once, when Automata had been transported to the Prime Material Plane. Though it was brief, she made the modrons know Automatans with a specific dance. This worked, until the Council of Order thought it obsolete once Automata was sent back to the Outlands. If this policy would have stuck, it would have given her an excuse. She could explain it away as a sort of code, if someone could memorize the movements, they could speak, or gain entry to a certain area. Dance.

Ailia Symmette likely would never dance again.

Ailia had been doing this when it all fell apart. There had been some sort of alert on her private messaging system. Maybe if she had not wasted those two minutes, this would not have happened. She had dispatched four kolyaruts to investigate, before going herself. She did not want to tell Azra, as to worry him. It was a sensitive matter.

Then it happened, too quickly to put together at first. She lost the pillar, and was taken by a cat-headed fiend. Azra intervened, and the two fought. Ailia called to Automata for help, and they sent modrons to a fight they were certain Azra would win. Ailia did not know how he could have lost, but if he had prevailed, she would not have ended up here.

When she discovered that the fiend had threw Azra into the Styx, she only had seconds. It had some way of teleporting, even hopping planes on a whim. Ailia’s first move was to shield her thoughts of…him…, sensitive matters about Azra, and operation of the tower. This monster would no doubt probe her mind. It came for her, the tower, and Azra. She needed at least those two things hidden.

The second action she took was to send a message to Black Scarf, the researcher she had met in a strange demiplane. She tried to tell him that Azra Holder, the Sword of Automata, needed to be rescued. Before she could finish the message, that rakshasa appeared before her with her unconscious husband. All the guards who tried to intervene either died, or were turned.

Before she knew it, Ailia was asked to honor her captor, then thrown into a cell when she refused. The cell was monstrous. The stonework was specifically added by her jailor, tailor made to be asymmetrical. When she managed to not pay attention to the filth, the fiend had attacked her, and left wounds she could not symmetrize with her magic. Thankfully, it had not taken any digits or limbs. All the scars it left could be healed. It had told her this, and also promised her that Azra was alive.

This fiend, this rakshasa, was a natural liar. Ailia had no reason to trust it, but after the time she had spent here, after the torture, its promises were so sweet. It offered an end to the chaos it started, a place of glory for her and Azra, and freedom to do whatever she wanted, only if it could have her fealty. It wanted her worship; it wanted her admiration. Despite taking her from the already perfect paradise she had.

And for what? Small freedoms? The ability to not work on a specific schedule? Absolutely not! Defiance of the natural law was abhorrent to her…even if she was an unnatural being. The rakshasa offered her a perfectly symmetrical place to govern…but Ailia did not want that. It offered her a small pocket of law, a demiplane of symmetry to keep, something Automata did not have. With this monster’s plans, and once they were to fruition, it could fulfill these offers…but Ailia would never accept. The monster did not understand. This enraged it. Ailia could never…never…let it learn why. What she really fought for.

Ailia’s thoughts were interrupted by a gravelly, weathered voice.

“Holy turkey-tiddies…you ain’t dead!” Qresh shouted, far too happily.

Qresh lumbered into the cell, and before he could get closer to the occupant, he noticed how the cell really looked. The cell was made of grimey stone, clearly smeared with some kind of filth, as every inch of the stone was putrid, aside from a clean circle that the occupant was lying on.

Symmette was indeed inside, but this was not the Symmette they had all fought. She was wearing rags, surprisingly clean rags, but still rags. The woman’s body somehow defied reality, and looked sicklier and more emaciated than usual. It was also tattered with fresh cuts and scars.

“Rexi, gimme the potions! Ettin girl really didn’t do it!” Qresh rumbled out.

Hearing the word “ettin” caused Symmette to look up, both faces too stunned to be offended.

Rexi ran to the entrance of the cell, and grabbed her mouth in shock. From the brief outline that wasn’t blocked by Qresh, Rexi could tell that the cell was a horror show. Rexi ran around Qresh, and saw Symmette. She understood now.

“By the gods you were right! How did you know!” Rexi shouted as she slipped out a potion.

Rexi ran over to the woman, and uncorked the potion. She was in a horrific state. Whoever or whatever held Symmette’s image must have spent a long time torturing her. How had Hein not noticed?

“Please…drink this…” Rexi said as she handed the potion over to Symmette.

Symmette sat up, moving jerkily, and grabbed the bottle with both hands. Rexi tried not to recoil at the six-fingered hands, so like the hands she had seen before. The ones that nearly killed her and Qresh.

Symmette drank half the potion from one head, and finished the rest of it with the other.

“Rakshasa…captured…hid me with magics…I need to find Azra Holder…he is the sword…to slay this darkness…” Symmette tried to say, though her voices sounded so quiet and hoarse, it was difficult to understand her fully.

“You’ll be feelin’ a whole lot better after that there potion…mhmm…” Qresh said.

Symmette waited a few seconds after Qresh said this, then tested her voices with a soft sigh.

“I…I thank you for…not attacking me on sight. It has my faces and form…I do not know if…” Symmette tried to say.

“Miss…Azra Holder is with us. He was here, but we saw…we saw you cut off his head. You drug his body to this cell…only it wasn’t inside when we found you.” Rexi hesitantly explained.

Rexi realized that she probably should have left that out. Clearly it was an illusion, and Symmette likely wouldn’t take this news well. Rexi was wrong. Symmette did not look upset in the slightest. The last thing Rexi expected happened. She smiled; both heads smiled at once. The health potion must have been taking effect, because she leapt off the ground, and Rexi saw all of the fresh cuts heal.

“That…that is beyond…oh thank you!” Symmette shouted.

She lunged at Rexi, wrapping her in a hug, which caused both Rexi and Qresh to flinch. The woman had practically no strength, and her body felt like a skeleton. It reminded Rexi of the many times she had fought animate skeletons.

“An illusion to be sure…but if you have the Sword of Automata…we can stop this monster…we…” Symmette stopped and recoiled.

“I apologize miss gnome…but you have a frighteningly off-center tie in this ponytail…I cannot…oh…no this is not the time…” Symmette rambled.

“This is really her…mhmm…ain’t no doubt.” Qresh growled, before continuing to speak.

“Statue has the sword m’am…” Qresh growled.

“I…I am sorry…what did you say sir tortle?” Symmette asked.

Qresh glanced at Rexi. She sighed, then translated.

“He said that Azra is here with the sword. Azra is a statue with a magic sword…right?” Rexi asked with some apprehension.

Ailia Symmette looked at the two strangely, then horror crept onto both faces.

“Wait…you do not know? This is horrible…maybe it impersonated Azra…made him look like his past self!” Symmette started to scream frantically.

“No…Azra was talking to…er…the imposter…and he vanished…” Rexi tried to explain.

“No, no, no, no, no, no!” Symmette shrieked over and over again.

“Calm down ettin girl. He’s a stone man an’ we can put his head back on if it got cut off!” Qresh tried to say calmly.

Symmette briefly stopped her screaming, almost comically so, and looked at Qresh blankly. She now spoke with a very clerical and emotionless tone.

“Please do not call me that.”

“…mhm…” Qresh responded a little confused.

Immediately after this, Symmette started screaming again. Both Qresh and Rexi jumped.

“Azra Holder is no longer a statue! He is an inevitable, and guards Automata! He does not wield the sword…he is the sword!” Symmette shouted.

Rexi and Qresh looked at each other in shock. Qresh’s face actually managed to convey this.

“If he is a statue…it is because he wills it to be! That monster made him think he was his past self! We must remind him; we must get him back his memory in order to survive this! I cannot fail! I cannot lose him…either of them!” Symmette screamed, only now she was more focused and less panicky.

Rexi walked up, and smiled. This seemed to calm down Symmette.

“I wish I had you resolve. If you’re like Azra, then you have a lot to fight for. As long as we’re here, you won’t lose anyone.” Rexi said with confidence.

This actually did briefly snap Symmette out of her panic.

“I do, lady gnome. I really do. That is one thing the rakshasa could not understand about me.” Symmette said, as she walked out of the cell into the room.

“Speaking of that, I need to see Azra immediately. I alone can reason with him into…wait…”

Symmette abruptly stopped speaking, and looked over at the farthest wall. There was a vertical mirror, one she could clearly see her reflection in. Rexi and Qresh looked at it, and noticed that it was propped against the wall and not attached to it. The mirror also had two handles on each side. Rexi didn’t know how, but to her, the woman’s ruined appearance looked even worse coming from the mirror. Looking in Symmette’s eyes, Rexi could tell that either she had never seen the mirror before, or had seen it much too many times.

Upon seeing her reflection, Symmette shrieked, then ran backwards. This happened so quickly, she didn’t see the stairwell behind the rooms entrance. Rexi tried to shout a warning, but Symmette still managed to fall backwards into the stairs. Both Rexi and Qresh cringed as they heard the woman’s body smash and bounce down the stairs.

She didn’t fall far, but the last impact was enough to briefly knock Symmette out. As she slipped into unconsciousness, she thought back, thought about all the times the rakshasa had asked her why she held on.

“What horrible will keeps you in this pitiful state? What could be worth enduring these torments…instead of admiring me?” The thing had asked Ailia, in her own, perfect voices.

She knew, and it would never, ever know.

******************************************************************************

The githzerai stretched as he thought to himself. Magistrate Symmette had not contacted his order in quite some time. He knew this was irregular. Even in a place lime Limbo, the githzerai knew how wrong this timespan was.

He strode from his balcony, and thought about the predicament as he made his way to the meditation chamber. Several of his order had been instructed not to initiate contact. More and more of them were getting concerned, and he was personally invested in the matter. The magistrate had blessed them all with the opportunity to not only help teach, but learn from possibly one of the most lawful beings in creation. Of that there was no doubt.

“Perhaps…what was that grey fellow’s name…Black Scarf? He is a proven ally, and knows the magistrate personally. He could be contacted…but should he be?” The gith thought aloud to himself.

As the githzerai entered the meditation chamber, he bowed slightly, before approaching a lone figure. The figure was small, and was hovering above the ground with its legs folded in a meditative sitting position.

“Arza. I trust you are doing well.” The gith said.

The githzerai got an affirmative response in his head, followed by a question about the figure’s mother and father.

“I am afraid that we have not heard anything recently. Would your mother approve of us contacting the man called Black Scarf? Some of our order know of him.” The gith asked.

The figure turned in place. It was what appeared to be a young, human male child. His head was shaven, and he wore the modest garbs of the githzerai. The child’s eyes opened, revealing his only inhuman quality. Instead of circular pupils, the child had plus-shaped ones.

Other than this, he looked perfectly human. He was strangely symmetrical, but so were his parents. His mother especially.